


Intertwined Tails

by IronicSnap



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Anthology, F/M, Life Partners, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronicSnap/pseuds/IronicSnap
Summary: Seven scenes from the shared lives of Sly Cooper and Carmelita Fox.[Part of Galatic-Dragoness' Tumblr event SlyFox Week]





	1. Disguise.

“**You!** Stop right there!”

Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox strides up, eyes hard. She knows she could pull back a little. Local security should be perfectly compliant. There’s no need for the full Interpol theatrics.

But they aren’t theatrics, are they? She’s angry. She’s been shown up one too many times by this upstart thief.

Not any more. Tonight, it ends.

Of course, she can’t just rely on herself to make that happen. Men like this need to play their part too. She briefly scans him - young, grey fur, his uniform’s cap low over his face. _Very _nervous. New hire, probable college dropout? Whatever he is, she hopes he doesn’t screw this up for her.

She wouldn’t say that to his face, of course. Instead, she points to the box in his hands. “You know what’s in that, yes?”

He nods.

“And where it’s meant to be?”

More nodding.

“And what will happen if that two-bit thief lays a **finger** on it?!”

Much more nodding. Mildly frantic. His hat wobbles and he stops.

“Good,” says Carmelita. “I’m sure your boss has already explained how priceless that antique is, so you don’t need me reiterating anything. Just make sure it’s back in the vault by…”

She glances down to her watch and trails off.

“…It should _already_ be back.”

Carmelita looks back up, eyes hard, and the guard freezes. She sees his tail shoot out behind him, bristling with fear. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get out anything other than a dry choke she cuts across him.

“Did the director tell you to move it?”

He stands there for a second, silent. Then he nods, slowly. Carmelita chalks it up to nerves.

“I thought so.” She shifts her weight, thinking aloud. “I was assigned to protect this museum, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. But when I met with the Director Taxim, he struck me as somehow evasive. Like he was uncomfortable with having a cop on his premises, despite the fact I’m here to help.”

She scoffs, folding her arms.

“It’s probably nothing. I came here with the wrong idea already in my head. Tell me, how much do you know about Sly Cooper?”

The guard tries to make an ‘eh’ gesture with one hand, but he needs both on the box to keep a steady grip, so he ends up dancing the motion awkwardly with his shoulders.

“Take it from me, it’s not worth knowing much.” Carmelita clears her throat. “But we’ve already established a few things based on the crimes he’s committed. He’s international, so this museum’s location was no obstacle to him. He targets the flashiest items he can, so the priceless antique in your hands would definitely catch his attention. And…” She rolls her eyes. “He _thinks _he’s honourable. Targeting other criminals rather than civilians.”

The guard tries working up the courage to say something, but takes too long.

“That, of course, raises the question,” she continues. “Why here? Why this museum, which by all accounts is completely legitimate? Yes, this artefact is valuable. But is it valuable enough for Cooper, a known narcissist, to prove himself a hypocrite? Is the loot worth tarnishing his precious reputation?”

Carmelita huffs. By now, she’s just thinking aloud.

“Dammit. It just raises too many questions. I hate to think that smirking little twerp has influenced me, but I have to admit… I’ve noticed too many red flags in how this museum is run. And doesn’t that stand by itself? It doesn’t matter that my suspicions were initially raised by Cooper. One way or another, if there’s precedent to investigate further, that’s exactly what I should do.”

The guard nods. More confident, now. He seems taller.

“Alright. That settles it. I’m going to turn around and see what I can dig up. If Taxim thinks he can get rid of me that easily, he has another thing coming.”

Carmelita gives the guard a rare smile. With her purpose renewed, she’s in a better mood.

“Thank you for your attention - and sorry if I’ve kept you from your duties. Can you keep an eye on that antique for me?”

“Anything for you.”

His voice – rich, low – is a little intense. Almost awed. But men have a habit of saying weird things to Carmelita, so she takes it in stride. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

Wasting no time, Carmelita turns on her heel and begins striding back the way she came. And after a few seconds her police instincts crash into her and she turns back around, eyes wide, just in time to see his ringed tail disappear around a corner.

“_Wait a…!_ Cooper! **Get back here!**”


	2. Partners.

"Well, this is fun!"

They sprint together down the dark streets. The night air is oppressive, layered with explosions and gunfire and far-off yells.

But Sly isn't being ironic. He's loving this.

"Watch your six!"

Carmelita fires, the blast catching a vulture in the chest just as he emerges from a nearby alley. Sly notes with satisfaction that her accuracy hasn't diminished one bit.

She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. "The Contessa's forces are falling apart, but they're not going quietly. We need to–"

"_Move!_" Sly grabs her wrist and they run. He heard it before she did – a tank, trundling towards them with grim purpose. Neyla's forces pushing their advantage.

Carmelita doesn't pull back her arm. "Sly?!"

"Yes?"

"You're dragging me towards that bridge!"

"Sure am!"

"We have no hope of crossing! We can't–"

"Carmelita."

He looks over his shoulder, and for a moment, everything slows down. The sounds of war become distant as Carmelita is left alone with that voice.

"Just trust me."

And then – letting go – he leaps over the side.

Carmelita pauses, just for an instant. But she can't stand still in this chaos. Sly isn't abandoning her. The smirking escape attempts are long past them now. He let go because he wants her to follow him. To choose his method.

Sucking in a breath, Carmelita vaults the bridge too.

She lands, knees bending, boots solid. A boat. Grey and flat and trundling through the dark water peacefully, unconcerned with the warzone raging around it. Sly stands at the bow, giving her a smile.

"See?"

"What is this?"

"Bentley's pretty sure it's automated. It's the Contessa's, but we've been using it this whole time to cross the river. Just give it a minute, and it'll pull up to the opposite bank."

She nods. "Smart."

"Thanks." Sly rubs his eyes. She notices the fatigue finally catch up to him, if only for a moment. "We set up shop… _worryingly _close to Neyla's HQ. But that's where the Van is, so that's where the guys will be. We'll just need to be quick."

"I see." Carmelita tries a smile. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble escaping. I know that better than anyone."

He laughs. She savours the sound, a welcome respite from the fury still raging distantly around them. "Thanks, Carmelita."

"It's true."

"Yeah…"

He flashes her a grin, bright and lively in the dark night.

"It's a nice change of pace, huh? Once we get to the safehouse, you'll be seeing one of our daring escapes from the inside."

She's suddenly lost the thread of this conversation. "I mean… this is nice, Sly, and I'm grateful for the help. But I can't stay that long. I need to make my own exit."

He matches her confused expression. "'Your own'…? What are you saying?"

"What are _you_ saying?" Carmelita hears the old Inspector Fox tone slipping back into her voice. "We teamed up to survive a warzone. But we can't take this any further."

"Why not?"

He steps closer. His eyes are pleading.

"You could run with us," says Sly. "We've got everything you need."

She glares. "Tell me you're kidding."

"Not at all! We're mobile. We're quiet. And if it wasn't clear from how we broke you out of that tower, we prefer you _out_ of jail. We'd take care of you. You know that."

The possibility of joining his little band of thieves – joining _him –_ suddenly hits her full force. He has a point. Practically speaking, it would make sense.

That scares her.

"I... No. This discussion is over."

"Carmelita–"

"I'm _not_ doing it."

"Why?" His voice rises. She sees a rare anger on his face. "After everything that happened – after your bosses threw you aside on the flimsiest evidence, left you with that _witch_ – you're still loyal to Interpol?! I thought you were smarter than that."

Carmelita won't bend. The argument is almost welcome. It's more familiar to her. "Watch your tone."

"You know it's true! Neyla betrayed you. Interpol abandoned you. We'd never do either." He thrusts an arm toward the chaos. "Your so-called 'partner' is back there! Getting rewarded for the violence she dragged into this city! Mine are right ahead, ready like always."

He holds her gaze, hazel on brown. On some level, Carmelita is moved. Sly's always been charismatic, but she's never heard such passion in his voice. He really cares.

But nothing will ever be enough.

Carmelita directs her glare at the water. "You're… right. About Neyla, if nothing else. But that's not why."

"Oh." She hears the anger leave him. There isn't much left. "...Is it me?"

"No." Carmelita looks him in the eye, sees the vulnerability there. "You're a good man, Sly. You've more than proven that by now. Thank you."

The praise coaxes a little smile from him. "Then why not come with us?"

"Because you have your methods, and I have mine. Or I did." Carmelita speaks slowly, but with conviction. She's had plenty of time to work this out, alone in that damn tower. "I need to clear my name, the right way. If I can't do it, if the system just lets people like Neyla get their way… then yes. You and your law-breaking are as valid as anything else. But all these years, I fought for that system. I fought _you_. I need to know whether I was wasting my time – or if my way still works." She folds her arms. "It's not about proving it to them. It's about proving it to myself."

Sly is quiet for a moment. Reflective. Then he slowly breaks into a smile. "You know something? You're one hell of a woman."

"I know." She says it more sharply than she intended. But it makes him laugh. She tries to savour the laugh again, while she still can.

Just like that, the boat pulls up. Sly gives her a nod, a smirk sliding back into place. There's no more room for argument. It's back to surviving.

Carmelita wishes they could just argue all night.

But it ends, all too quickly. She and Sly power through Neyla's territory just as they had the Contessa's. Sly regroups with his Gang – relieved and refreshed and optimistic. Ready to go.

Sly leaves her on a rooftop. There's a moment where their eyes meet from across the street. Sly gives her a salute. Carmelita holds his gaze, then silently withdraws.

She sets about leaving the city. Alone.


	3. Handcuffs.

At first, there's only silence.

As much silence as there can be in a helicopter, of course. But this is a recent model. Urban use. Quiet. So the hum of the rotors isn't much of a distraction as Sly sits on one side and Carmelita sits on the other and they stare at each other. Silent.

But slowly, tensions ease. It's an odd prospect for both of them - their game finally ending, and so abruptly at that. But the reality sinks in. And with it comes a peace.

It's Sly who talks first, naturally. He just makes some reflexive comment about how glad he is it's all over. Wry, but tired. Carmelita agrees, but distantly. She's still on guard.

Then he thanks her. There's no humour in his voice, no irony. There was no way he could have defeated Neyla without her help, and he just lets her know that.

The mood shifts.

In a quiet voice, Carmelita says he's welcome, and after a moment's pause she thanks him too. For Prague. And for Russia, while she's at it. And for this. She finally has her life back, because she's put Sly Cooper in handcuffs. Even if she only accomplished it when he willingly held out his wrists.

Sly is sure to accept her gratitude gracefully. But he can't resist a quick jab at her boss. It's another reflex, something he barely considers, but it makes her laugh. Hard. They're alone up here, there's no oversight or pressure. No judgement. So she _can _laugh. And she does.

Sly's never heard this laugh. It's melodious. Adorable. He'll remember that laugh for the rest of his life - but that's no reason not to try to hear it again.

He doesn't hold back, barely able to keep everything, every idle thought he wanted to share with her, spilling out all at once. He's breathless. His cool charismatic shell melts away and it's just him, just Sly, practically babbling in front of his crush like a giddy teenager. Part of him is mortified, unable to stop, certain that he's ruining this precious opportunity with his inane blather.

Carmelita, sure enough, is initially taken aback. But soon she's chiming in. Corrections at first, then comparisons, then commonalities. Neyla's backstabbing, the Contessa's cruelty, Dimitri's… well, whatever it was Dimitri had going on. They have plenty to talk about.

He's filling her in on Arpeggio's ostentatious style when he makes some derisive comment about opera, and Carmelita challenges him on it. She asks if he's ever attended an opera. Sly has, technically, if stealing from a corrupt official as he sits in his booth counts as 'attending'. He's never sat through an entire opera, obviously. Carmelita scoffs, and suddenly she's telling him about a production of Bizet's _Carmen_ she saw in Barcelona.

Sly dimly realizes they aren't talking about work any more.

From music they go to art, then to books, and they just keep talking. Sly's never enjoyed a normal conversation this much. What should be mundane is sublime, because it's with her.

She gives him a little smile and shows him a bottle of champagne, reserved for the special occasion of his arrest, and Sly wonders how a woman this powerful and dangerous can possibly be so adorable, too.

After the hellish hours he endured to get here, this feels like an ending. A reward. Sly, the thief who saved Paris, gets to live out something he didn't even let himself dream about.

And he enjoys it. He enjoys it as much as he possibly can, even though every time his hands move they chafe against handcuffs.

Halfway through an anecdote about her favourite café, Carmelita's eyes drift past him. She's starting to notice. Sly suspected something was off already – as much as he's loving this conversation, he realizes it should have ended by now. It's about to.

She goes to check on the pilot. The second her back is turned, Sly's hands are moving. It surprises him. He was relaxed – at least, he thought he was. But he never switches off. He's in handcuffs and a thief cannot be in handcuffs so the second he has the chance he's undoing them, picking through the cheap lock like it's nothing.

Sly has escaped the law – escaped Carmelita – more times than he can remember. But he never remembers feeling this... guilty.

They were talking. After everything, _despite_ everything, he was finally able to talk to her, and it was amazing. They were chatting, laughing, bonding. His hopes that there was more to their relationship than the thrill of the chase had at last been confirmed. And he was just going to leave?

Is that who Sly Cooper is?

He has his answer an instant later, as the restraints silently pop loose. Sly Cooper is a thief. Thieves don't stay in handcuffs. Not good ones, at least. Not him.

He feels guilty leaving Carmelita, yes. But he'd feel guiltier leaving Bentley and Murray. It's obvious Bentley needs medical attention, and Sly refuses to let them face that prospect alone. He loves Carmelita. But he loves his brothers, too, and right now they need him. With Carmelita reinstated, he's already done his part for her.

But, he reflects – spinning the cuff on one finger – he'll figure this out. After a first date this enjoyable, he'd do anything for a second.

Carmelita's reached the cockpit, so he needs to move. He reclaims his cane and pouch from her seat, but there's something else there too.

The guilt comes back as he catches sight of her precious champagne, his hand reflexively reaching for it. Again, he solves it quickly. He won't keep it. It's hers. It's deeply, intimately hers, and it's not his to take. So he'll return it the second he can, right back in her office, where it belongs.

But not before stealing it. Because that would be very funny.

Carmelita grunts in surprise and whirls around and just like that it's all ending. He meets her gaze with a huge grin and a salute, making sure she notices the bottle in his hand.

And then he jumps.

Still one usable paraglider. That's all he'll need. Paris is stretched out below him, absolutely gorgeous in the dawn's light. What a city. How anyone could ever even consider harming it is beyond him.

It's oddly peaceful as he drifts away. The wind and the rotors aren't so loud. And so, he's able to catch Carmelita's voice, thrust at him in a parting shot.

"**I'll _find_ you, Cooper!**"

Smiling to himself, he drifts along. Back to ground level; back to reality. He's optimistic, despite everything, even if he doesn't hear the rest. The next sentence is warm and low, a promise Carmelita makes more to herself than him.

"I'll be seeing you soon… Ringtail."


	4. Night.

Living with Sly Cooper soon reveals another side to him.

Sharing a living space with a person very quickly strips back any remaining mystique. It was an odd transition for Carmelita. That shadowy, smirking figure who had so smoothly eluded her all those moonlit nights became, quite abruptly, her roommate who couldn't use a dishwasher.

That part of the process was awkward. Carmelita generally maintains her apartment with the same tireless efficiency she puts into her work. Sly, by sharp contrast, spent his entire 'adult' life until now on a never-ending road trip with his two adoptive brothers. It showed.

But as with everything else, Sly proved a quick study. For so long, the mere idea of moving in with Carmelita sounded impossible. He treats this opportunity seriously, almost reverentially, and is always quick to drop the jokes when her frustration becomes genuine. As much as Sly's inelegant habits came as a surprise, the problems clear up fairly quickly.

It takes about three weeks before the real issue manifests.

After yet another day of nonstop work, Carmelita is sound asleep, almost unconscious. But even in her own bed, she's attuned to danger.

She wakes suddenly. Unfamiliar movement. Erratic and sharp. Carmelita catapults out of bed, ready to spring into action armed with nothing but her fluffy pyjamas.

But when her eyes adjust, there's no intruder. Just her and Sly. Thrashing under the covers.

She switches from Close Combat to First Aid, a change barely slowed by the fact her most recent setting was Being Asleep. Whatever's happening to Sly looks terrible. Every second counts.

Carmelita drops down by his side of the bed, looking him over. Her hand finds his shoulder, shaking him awake.

"Sly? Sly, can you hear me?"

At first, he doesn't respond, still shivering sickly. Carmelita has just enough time to worry it's truly serious before his eyes shoot open. They're wild. There's more fear in them than she's ever seen before.

Sly makes a choked little yelp. Then he goes silent.

The silence drags. Carmelita kneels there, expectantly waiting for him to crack a joke. No joke comes. There's no explanation, either. No comment of any kind.

Nothing.

Sly glances around the room. She sees the tight motions of his chest even out as he catches his breath. He grounds himself, returning to their shared bedroom from… wherever he just was.

His eyes meet hers, and go wide with shame.

"Sly, what–?"

She's gotten complacent. Apparently, it only took a few weeks for her to get used to him as her goofy boyfriend and roommate, instead of the unnaturally agile thief who had escaped her so many times.

It catches her off guard when – without a word – Sly bolts.

He throws himself away from her, landing on the opposite side of the bed directly into a crouch, then a sprint. Towards the door.

Old instincts have her moving before her mind fully catches up. "Sly! Slow down!"

Another chase, small and absurd, plays out within Carmelita's modest apartment. Sly's clearly not at his best, but like Carmelita, muscle memory is all he needs. He would easily pull ahead except, in the dark, he stumbles straight into the sofa. He had complained about its placement just yesterday. Carmelita doesn't have the luxury of finding that funny.

He makes a run for the balcony. Of course he does. Even with no cane and no equipment, he could just fling himself into the Paris skyline and disappear. It's a thought that hangs over Carmelita every day.

Her hand catches his before he can jump. Not today.

"Sly, _please_." Carmelita's voice is quiet, mildly desperate. It's cold out on the balcony. "Can you just tell me what's wrong?"

He turns, slowly, and meets her gaze. There's still that shame, that fear. He opens his mouth.

Nothing happens.

Then he bites his lip, eyes on the floor. His hand tenses around hers.

Carmelita blinks. "Oh. You… really _can't_ tell me, can you?"

Sly, ears low, shakes his head. He looks humiliated.

"Oh, Sly…"

This is a man Carmelita has seen breezily laugh off imminent death time and time again. She hesitates to imagine what he must have seen. Based on his file, she has an educated guess.

She moves in close. "Was it a nightmare?"

He nods.

"That's right…" She lays a hand on his cheek. "Just a nightmare. It's okay, Ringtail..."

Sly doesn't look at her. He grits his teeth for a second, then tries to speak again. Silence at first, and then, angrily exerting himself, he manages a mangled gasp. His face screws up in frustration.

"Sly, honey…" Her hand drifts up, stroking his hair. "Just relax. You don't have to say anything." Then, after a moment contemplating the anguish on his face, she adds, "I'm not ashamed of you, you know."

The effect is immediate. He finally meets her gaze, surprise in his eyes.

"Of course I'm not. How could I be?"

She gathers him up and brings him gently into an embrace.

"I am so, so proud of you," she murmurs in his ear. "Of everything you've done. If you want my help dealing with this, you know you have it. But it doesn't make me think less of you. Not at all."

Sly just stands there for a second. Then his arms wrap around her and he returns the embrace, very, very tightly. Carmelita closes her eyes and strokes his fur.

"You know you're safe with me, don't you? That I'll protect you?"

She feels Sly nodding. He sniffs, and she holds him a little tighter.

After a while – Carmelita honestly loses track of time, just holding him – Sly pulls back. He gives her a timid smile. Grateful.

"I love you, too." She punctuates the thought with a kiss, which he returns. Then she steps back, toward the balcony door. "Come on. It's cold out here. Let's go back to bed, shall we?"

Sly nuzzles up against her, peppering her cheek with small kisses. She laughs.

"Yeah, I thought so…"

They do just that. Before she drifts back asleep, Carmelita savours the feeling of Sly cuddled tightly against her. The absolute trust he has in her unspoken, but very clear.

No more nightmares.


	5. Rooftops.

Sly Cooper is back in his element.

He never visited Madagascar before. Impressive as his lifelong travels were, he couldn't hit everywhere, and he's always eager to fill a gap. The heat is a little much – he had forgotten it would be hotter in November, not colder – but he's known worse. He's enjoying this trip.

There might be time later to sightsee, check out some of that famous forest terrain. But so far, they've stuck to Antananarivo. Like any other capital city, it's got its restaurants and museums and art venues. Sly appreciates those things, of course. But he only ever has one real metric for judging a city.

And Antananarivo has _amazing_ rooftops.

The city is dense with houses, but it's built on a ridge. Three ridges, actually, slamming together at a peak, leaving everything else at a jaunty angle. Plenty of rooftops, but all at different heights.

Moving uphill would be an interesting test of Sly's old skills. Moving _down?_ Too easy.

So he's having some fun with the chase which is leading him, quite literally, downtown. His target is a lemur, whose jumps from roof to roof mostly rely on his downward momentum. He's got some talent, but he's nowhere near Sly's level.

Just a local punk. Embroiled in something bigger.

He might not even realize why Sly is chasing him, judging from the fearful looks he keeps shooting over his shoulder. Sly meets them with a breezy smile.

"Slow down, pal! I just want to chat."

"Are–" The lemur re-aligns himself after nearly barrelling into somebody's satellite dish. "Are you Sly Cooper?!"

"The very same!"

"Why are you doing this? I know you target other criminals, but I'm – I'm small time!"

"That was the old Sly. I play by different rules now."

"_Ahhh...!_" The lemur bends his path in a new direction, and Sly effortlessly matches him. "This doesn't make sense! People said you changed, but I didn't believe the rumours you went completely straight…"

"You shouldn't!" grinned Sly. "Just because I'm in a happy, stable relationship with a woman doesn't mean I'm _completely _straight. But if you're referring to my change in career…"

With a desperate burst of speed, the lemur vaults over a gap. He's speeding up, the bright colours of the city zooming dizzily below. A final, frenzied bid to get free.

Sly barely has to change pace.

The lemur cranes his neck, sprinting from roof to roof with impressive intuition. He's not half bad, really. "You – you won't catch me!"

"Oh, buddy. My job isn't to catch you." Sly grins ear to ear. "It's to make you lose focus."

The lemur's eyes widen and he turns back around just in time to get a faceful of fox fist.

At the speed he was running, it's brutal. He crumples, inertia sending him skittering across the roof. He's left sprawled there, stunned. In seconds, he's handcuffed.

Sly slides to a stop, momentum dissipating with his usual grace. "Nice one, honey. I felt that from here."

"Thank you. I always hoped your constant backtalk could be put to actual use."

"Just as I hope that you will, someday, stop bullying me for my hilarious jokes."

It's clear from their expressions that their insults are toothless. The verbal equivalent of play-fighting. But it still catches the lemur by surprise when Carmelita moves over to Sly and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"Heh. Thanks." He savours that for a second, his eyes warm. "You have any trouble finding me?"

"Are you kidding?" she purrs, returning his expression. "After all those years trying to chase you down, keeping pace with you is an old habit."

"There's a comforting thought." Sly brushes a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'd never want to get too far from you, 'Lita."

He could get lost in those brown eyes, he really could. But they're still on the clock. He clears his throat, refocusing himself.

"Okay, Murray's already bringing the van around. With this fine gentleman's _co-operation_, Bentley can build some better intel on whoever's in charge here."

Carmelita nods. "Excellent. We're making superb progress. If we can keep this up, I'll have no trouble mobilising a full Interpol strike team."

The lemur pushes aside enough fear to make room for some confusion. "S-she's a cop?"

"She's _the_ cop," says Sly. "C'mon, buddy, if you've heard of me you've definitely heard of her."

"The…" His wide eyes turn back to her. The boots, the pistol, the steely glare. "You're the–?!"

"Yes," says Carmelita.

He looks back to Sly. "You're a cop now?"

"Eh," says Sly. "Tried that. Didn't stick."

"My fault, really." Carmelita is matter-of-fact. "We tried changing too much too quickly. The best results can only be achieved by playing to someone's talents. Especially when that someone is as talented as Sly."

"_You're_ talented," sings Sly sweetly.

"Don't patronise me, dear. We're both talented."

"We're _both_ talented," he says in the exact same tone. Carmelita chuckles, nuzzling his cheek.

The lemur boggles at this. The mythical idea he had of these people is collapsing, and the reality is somehow stranger. "...Why? _How?_"

"Well," says Sly, "it's more practical than you might realize."

"We're a good team," says Carmelita. "We always were. Even when it didn't make sense."

"So we just decided to… _make _it make sense."

They stand over him. In a familiar motion, Carmelita's arm wraps around Sly's waist. He leans against her, his smile unstoppable.

"It took a lot of work, sure. But after finding the right leverage... we figured it out."


	6. Tango.

"I have to admit, Ringtail. You're cute when you're nervous."

Sly lets out a sigh. But he offers no resistance as his wife leans in, adjusting his deep blue bowtie. "Sorry. I hope I'm not distracting you."

"Of course you're distracting me." Carmelita's voice is low. Warm. "How can I have fun if you aren't?"

He perks a little at that, ears up. She gives him a light kiss.

"You're sweet to worry so much. It means you care. But _díos_, Sly, this is our first night off in _years-_"

"Eleven months."

"-in _months_, and I intend to enjoy it." She rubs his shoulder, though she's careful with the fine fabric of his tuxedo. "Murray can handle it."

"Yeah. Yeah." Sly sounds surer, drawing on bonds of brotherhood that safely saw him through a lot worse. "And Bentley and Penelope said they'd be happy to step in if needed."

"Exactly. So – I know this can be hard for your instincts to accept, but – you can _relax_."

He smiles at her, his hands on hers. She looks radiant tonight, decked out in a dark red dress, her hair drawn back in an elegant style. He thinks she always looks beautiful, of course. But they both enjoyed getting properly dressed up for the first time in a while.

From their ballroom stage, the band finishes up one song and begins another – a tango. Carmelita's eyes light up. "Come on! This is a perfect opportunity to dance."

"I couldn't agree more," purrs Sly, and moments later, they're on the dancefloor.

They flow. The transition into the dance comes smoothly, naturally, to both of them. They move with a shared grace, bodies entwined.

"So," says Sly, his cheek on hers. "Who's going to bring it up first?"

"Bring up what?"

"India."

They sway through the crowd in perfect sync. Sly is attuned to every movement his wife makes – including her derisive snort. "Of course. The finest moment of detective work in my career…"

"'Gosh," he says, adopting a wide-eyed innocence, "have I met you before, mysterious stranger? Perhaps during my work in law enforcement?' Truly a genius thing to ask during an undercover sting at a criminal's houseparty."

"I'll dunk you head-first in the punch bowl," she says evenly.

"Please. I could use a little excitement."

There's a brief lull. Sly dips Carmelita, and she smiles up at him. He returns it.

"We had some fun times," he murmurs once she's against him again. "But honestly? I prefer things now."

"I'm glad to hear it." Her hand is on his shoulder. It's warm. "Even if you've found it hard to relax lately?"

"Wouldn't trade a thing." He keeps tight against her, almost an embrace. "Certainly wouldn't trade you…"

"Good to know."

They lapse into another silence, just savouring the music, the dance. The swirl of other couples. In sharp contrast to India, so long ago now, there's nothing between them. And there's no need to be the centre of attention. They're just ordinary guests tonight, free to relax and enjoy the party. Free to revel in the feeling of being a normal married couple.

"...'Lita?"

"Ringtail?"

"Have you noticed the painting hanging behind the band?"

"You mean the one that Interpol records indicate was stolen from a Czech museum several years ago?"

"That one, yes."

"I did. Have _you_ noticed the security arrangements?"

"You mean how two guests could probably get in a champagne-fuelled fistfight without any interference, because all of the guards are just focusing their efforts on keeping people out of the backrooms?"

"...Yes."

"Yeah. I did."

Carmelita sighs. Sly feels her warm breath against his cheek.

"Once this dance is over, I'll call Murray," he says. "Let him know we might be… slightly delayed."

Carmelita Montoya Fox does not whine. The very idea of it is absurd. But a foolish, incautious person might dangerously but understandably mischaracterise it as a 'whine' when Carmelita gently sags against Sly and says "This was our night _off_…"

"Hey. Here's what we'll do." Sly keeps his voice low. When they're this close, a low purr is all he needs. "Once we blow this party – and it looks like we are literally going to blow it into little pieces, but alas, duty calls – we'll take the long way home. We'll find some place that's still open, and I'll buy two ice-creams to go. And you and I are gonna sit together under the stars, in our fancy clothes, and share them."

Carmelita's voice is low too. "That… does sound nice."

"I'm glad you think so." He punctuates the thought with a kiss to her cheek. "I'm sorry you aren't getting your night out."

"That's alright. You seem like you're in a better mood."

He smiles quietly at that. "I guess so! I know we're basically working overtime all of a sudden, but it's nice to have a distraction."

"You were still worried about her, huh?"

"I'm not sure I can stop."

"Well," she says, rubbing his back, "that's a good quality for a father to have."

The song slowly comes to an end. Sly and Carmelita are left standing there, not quite willing to pull away from each other.

"I suppose we better get moving…" she says.

"Yeah. Think of it this way; the sooner we finish, the sooner we can come home to our daughter."

She gives him a quiet smirk. "And the sooner you can relieve Murray from babysitting duty?"

"Like you said, he can handle it. But… yeah. That too."

With a final kiss, they break apart. And the real dance begins.


	7. Paris.

"Let's go back to Paris."

Carmelita looks up from the news app on her tablet – if such things still came in paper, she would have used the rustle of sheets to punctuate her raised eyebrow. Alas. "What was that?"

"You heard me. Paris. All four of us."

Sly Cooper has aged. They both have. Those damnable Cooper genetics have served him well, his wife notes, so middle-age hasn't hit him too hard; as ever, what comes naturally to him takes far more effort on her part. But the youthful glimmer in his eye has nothing to do with biology. That's all Sly.

"We're overdue for a vacation," he continues, smirking across at her from his own armchair. "It'll be fun."

"I'm sure." Carmelita adjusts her reading glasses. She wears them more and more these days. "Do you have any specific plan in mind?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

It's an old routine by now. Good Cop, Bad Cop. Spontaneous Parent, Responsible Parent. They're so used to the roles they've fallen into the rhythm without their daughters around as an audience. "Need I remind you how expensive flights have become?"

"As if that's an obstacle. It's _Paris_. It's worth it. Besides, I hear blimps are back in a big way. They sound cheaper."

"Because they're much slower. However long you expect this holiday to last, a return journey by airship would add another week."

Sly's smirk widens. "Oh no. More time off. What a nightmare."

"Easy for you to say." Carmelita sips her tea, mostly to remind herself it's there. "You may not do much in that fancy study of yours–"

"I am _affronted _by that accusation, my dear, you only caught me spinning around on my office chair _once–_"

"-but some of us," she says, matching his smirk, "have real jobs."

Carmelita Fox may in fact have the realest job available in this sleepy town. The schools are good, each with a dedicated staff of teachers. The shops, so far, have managed to balance modernisation with retaining their local charm. There's a clinic with a brilliantly sharp therapist, who the Cooper-Fox household have relied on more than once.

But with a former Interpol agent as Chief of Police, this is the safest town in North America. Sly's parents had retired to a similarly small town to raise him, and he had liked it there. Until the night when five of the world's most deadly criminals, unimpeded by the local police force, had walked right up to their front door.

Sly and Carmelita did not intend to repeat the past. They would always be there for their children.

"Your freelance work would be easy to put on pause," she continues, "but as for me…"

"I'm gonna stop you right there." Sly's smirk is unstoppable. "Chief of Polices – Chieves of Police?"

"Police Chiefs."

"Police Chieves are, in fact, entitled to time off. Same as everyone else. And you have nothing to worry about! You've whipped those local cops into absurdly good shape. They'd survive a few weeks without you."

"But what about…" Carmelita takes a suspiciously long sip of tea. "You know. Other duties I may have?"

"If you're referring to how Chief Fox keeps an eye on anyone passing through town on the off-chance they're a vengeful supervillain with impeccable research skills… well, I don't know why you'd refer to that, because that's just an unfounded rumour. But while we're trading unfounded rumours, I hear the remnants of the infamous Cooper Gang also live in this town, and could probably do the exact same. But that can't be right, can it?" He tilts his head. "Y'know, we should ask our nice neighbours Bentley and Penelope. They're smart. Or maybe ol' Murray's heard something down at his garage…"

"Point made," says Carmelita finally. "I think we can afford to take some time away. _If _we make the proper arrangements."

"Won't be hard." Sly's smirk turns warm. Appreciative. "You've already thought of everything."

"I suppose I have…"

Sly drifts across the living room, leaning down to kiss her. Instead of returning to his own armchair, he settles on the side of hers. She's happy to have him.

"So, I have to ask." She leans against him, her mug of tea still warm in her hands. "What's brought this on?"

She can feel his voice reverberate through his chest. "This morning, I just realized… the girls have never been there."

"Oh." She sits on that a moment. It's a strange thought.

"Yeah. A French museum sent me a piece to examine – absolutely laughable fake, didn't even need to zoom in on the photos – and it just… hit me. Paris was such a big part of my life. _Our _lives."

"Remember my apartment downtown? Where we stayed together during the 'Constable Cooper' era?"

"'Lita, my dear, how could I possibly forget?" says Sly, and his smirk is wry but there's nothing in his voice but sincerity.

She sighs. "Yeah. I'm happy here, but I miss the City of Lights. We had some wonderful times there."

"You yelled at me from some beautiful rooftops," he says, and she laughs.

There's no doubt in her mind now. The trip is as good as planned. "Where are the girls?"

"They told me they were taking a walk along the river. They'll be back any minute."

"Excellent. In that case…" Carmelita lays a hand on his. "Do you want to tell them?"

"Let's both tell them." Sly holds her hand, his voice warm. "I prefer it when we do things together."

Carmelita smiles. "I do too, Ringtail. I do too."


End file.
